


A Smuggler's Chant

by I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins



Series: The Way of Thedas [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 14:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5669215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins/pseuds/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tales say the not-so-heroic Maroth Tabris is a highly skilled smuggler and thief who preys on nobles. It's only after meeting the quick-witted Red Jenny and her merry band that he decides to give back to the poor.</p><p>Some know him as a simple family man, but when Vaughan Kendells catches him stealing from his vault, the shem makes the mistake of punishing the wrong man's wife.</p><p>They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but Maroth of Denerim is not a patient man.</p><p>TW: Mentions of rape similar as it does in-game without explicit detail, also mentions underaged prostitutes, as well as light, consensual smut between a husband and wife.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a bit of an AU where I have Nesiara coming much earlier than in-game, so she doesn't die on her wedding day. She comes about six years earlier than that, and I have my Tabris as 23 when the Blight starts, which makes him 17 when he's married. Which fits my hc that city elves marry young when they can, especially if a good match can be found. Anywho. This is my very au version of the City Elf Origin. 
> 
> City elves from Denerim have an accent similar to Sera, though not as thick, because it just makes sense that she's not the only one to speak that way. Also, no, Maroth is not a good person. He has many flaws and I wrote him that way on purpose, to show his growth and journey from here all the way up to his role in the Inquisition.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning. There is light smut in the final scene. Not quite explicit, but probably mature. >_>

"Cousin, yer sure we should be doin' this, right?" Soris wrings his hands, eyes darting around like a nervous shem.

Maroth grins, the corners of his lips turning up in a lazy smirk as he leans against a wall. "Eh, I'm sure the coin'll be good, yeah? C'mon, don't be such a bellend."

Soris frowns as Taeodor joins them, but keeps silent. "Ya got the goods, yeah?" Taeodor asks, face bland.

The sword is heavy on Maroth's back as he shifts, nodding his head. Jewels cover the hilt, so thick as to be useless, and more gaudy than pretty. "Aye, I got it 'ere. That Nancine was easy enough to talk out of 'er clothes," Maroth replies, remembering the way the shem looked as she removed her armour for his "inspection".  After that, taking the sword was easy.

Soris snorts, shaking his head. "Daft ta be so bold with it. W'at if she recognizes yer face, cousin? Daft fool, innit?"

"I kept to the shadows, I did. Ya worry too much," Maroth replies, waving his hand. "Bugger off with that, an' let's get our coin."

An elven woman in well-made armour joins them. Maroth stands up straighter, running his fingers through his messy blonde hair. Her cheekbones are high and well sculpted, with calculating green eyes that flash as she looks at him. Her brownish blonde hair is twisted up into a messy knot at the top of her head, bangs sweeping down to lay across one eye. She jerks her head at him, lips curving into a frown. "You're Tabris?" she ask, her Kirkwall accent funny to his ears.

Maroth gives her a grin, looking her up and down appreciatively. "Well, ain't ya a pretty thing. I got yer sword here, lass," he replies.

"Charming," she replies dryly, hand moving to rest against her dagger. She raises a brow at him, thumb rolling against the hilt suggestively.

He chuckles, his hair falling in his deep forest green eyes. "Ah, all business, eh? Right, that's some fancy armour yer wearin' fer our kind."

Athenril snorts, the sound derisive. "Not everywhere is as piss poor as your Denerim. Kirkwall's not so bad, and anyone can make a name for themselves in the underground if they work hard. Even an elf," she replies. "Now, let's get this over with. This place smells like wet dog and rotting garbage."

Soris folds his arms across his chest, eyes flashing. "It ain't so bad," he mumbles.

"Eh, ya forgot the smell of shit and desperation," Maroth adds, a smirk twisting his full lips.

Taeodor rubs the back of his neck, shifting on the balls of his feet. "Right, glad ya two are gettin' along so well," he quips, sarcasm dripping from each word.

Athenril lets out a short bark of a laughter and holds out her hand. Her eyes have a glint to them, and Maroth guesses she's amused. "Alright, Tae said you had something good for me?"

Maroth nods, reaching for the sword strapped to his back. It's wrapped in rough brown paper that reeks of fish and Athenril crinkles her nose. She's cute, Maroth notices, and he wonders what it would be like to have a tumble. He inwardly flinches at his own thoughts, knowing his wife would be livid were she to find out.

He unwraps the hilt, showing off the multitude of ridiculous gems. They glitter in the dying light of the sun, twinkling up at them in bright reds, purples, and golds. The Kirkwaller lets out a low whistle, smiling appreciatively. 

"I can give you ten sovereigns for this," she says, fingering her coin purse.

Soris' eyes widen as he sucks in a sharp breath. "Ten whole sovereigns? We could eat fer a month off coin like that," he whispers.

"Is that all ya thinkin' about, cousin? Food? W'at an imagination," Maroth quips.

He shrugs in reply, scratching the side of his nose. "Well, I'm hungry. W'at else am I suppose ta think about? Better than you with yer whores at the Brothel."

Maroth ignores him, handing the sword over to Athenril. He stares down at the coin, licking his lips as he counts them. With a soft grunt, he hands Soris only three of them.  

His cousin stares down at the coins, a scowl colouring his face. "W'at's this?" he asks, annoyance clear in his voice.

"Well, I did most of ta work, right? That's yer share."

"I distracted her guards, I did!"

"Yeah, an' ya almost pissed yerself doin' it," Maroth grumbles. "That outta buy you an' that mousy wife of yers somethin' good to eat fer the week, yeah? C'mon then."

Soris sighs, hanging his head in resignation. "Right. Thanks, cousin." 

 

~*~*~

 

Maroth watches his brother-in-law, Nelaros, working the forge. Soot covers his pale skin and his dull blonde hair, a mirror of Nesiara's, is held back by a bit of cloth. The muscles in his arms are taunt as he strikes the hammer down on the red-hot steel, pounding it into shape. The sound is loud, and echoes in the small, open space. He dips the metal into a large barrel of water, a crackling hiss filling the air. Nelaros glances over at him, a smile spread across his handsome, scuplted face.

"Come to do some honest work today, brother?" he asks, wiping his hands on his apron.

Maroth laughs, clapping his wife's twin brother on the shoulder. "W'at fun would that be? I came ta buy one of yer fine made weapons, instead."

Nelaros' smile slips, eyes narrowing as he leans against a pole. He takes a deep breath before replying. "Elves aren't suppose to carry weapons here, you'd just be asking for trouble."

"Yeah, but trouble can be fun, right?" he replies, shrugging his shoulders.

"Nesiara will kill me," Nelaros says, tone blunt. "She'd probably kill us both."

Maroth chuckles, picturing his lovely wife glaring up at him. "W'at Nessy don't know, won't hurt, yeah? C'mon, I got some good coin fer ya." He opens his coin pouch and shows off three of the gold sovereigns. 

Nelaros' eyes bulge in their sockets. "Where in the Maker's name did you get that kind of coin, brother?"

"A little birdy gave it ta me?"

"Nesiara is going to kill you, you know. You promised her when you two got married that you'd give up the smuggling work," Nelaros replies with a heavy sigh.

Maroth shrugs again, bored. He's tired of everyone telling him what he should be doing as a husband. He's making better coin than most of these fools, and his daughter has nicer clothes than the rest of the alienage kids. And they don't have to live with family, either. "Promises are like horses, brother. They all shit." He tosses the sovereigns on the nearby table. "Besides, don't ya wantta buy Shianni somethin' nice? Yer anniversary's commin' up, innit?"

"Alright, alright. I'll make you a simple dagger. But try not to go flashing it around too much? If that blasted thing gets you killed, Nesiara will never forgive me. And I'd rather my neice not grow up fatherless." Nelaros turns away to grab some more steel. "You know, I've heard whispers among the others about a thief they're calling "The Dark Wolf". Know anything about that?" he asks over his shoulder.

Maroth grins. "Not a bleedin' thing, brother. Not a bleedin' thing at all."

 

~*~

 

 

Nesiara's face is red, her fists balled tight at her side. "You promised, Maroth," she says, and her voice is barely above a whisper. Her Highever accent is smooth, even, more cultured than his. But her voice doesn't sound scared, rather it's filled with a quiet sort of anger that worries him. He's heard this tone before, right after Laylah was born. She'd threatened to take their daughter and go back to Highever then, if he didn't start a stable job at the docks.

He nods, moving toward her. "I know, pet," he replies. "But we need the coin, Nessy. Shite, don't ya like the pretty things I buy fer ya?"

She looks over at their sleeping daughter, brow furrowed. "You could travel to Highever. Sell my crafts there. I always made my family good coin back home, you don't have to-"

He cuts her off, placing a hand on her arm. "It wouldn't be enough. And I can't leave ya alone 'ere. Denerim ain't safe like yer precious Highever. "

She shakes her head before leaning her forehead against his chest. "I would stay with Shianni and my brother. I'd be safe there, husband," she whispers. "Laylah would be safe there."

"Safe? Wif Shianni's loud mouth? Ya'd be safer travellin' the road with me," Maroth grumbles. His heart thuds against his chest as he thinks of what might happen if he's not around. He strokes her back in small circles, breathing in her scent of warm honey and that earthy undertone that is just her.

He loves his wife. He hadn't wanted to be marry, but it was tradition and one his father wouldn't let him ignore. The first year had been hard, full of awkward silences and tears from Nessy as she adjusted to being so far from home. And it wasn't easy for her, he knew, being with a man like him. But they have grown to love each other, despite the odds. 

Nesiara pulls back, searching his face. "Does that mean you'll go, husband?"

He sighs, kissing the top of her head. "Yeah, I'll go," he replies, knowing it will only placate her temporarily, until the next deal he can't resist comes in. But it will bring them some coin, and her crafts are well made. Perhaps he can find a few good smuggling opportunities in Highever, as well, and she wouldn't need to know . His eyes shift to Laylah as he holds his wife in his arms. Her sleeping form is nestled in some old woolen blankets his father had given them, loose blonde curls tumbling across her chubby face. 

He sighs again, tilting Nessy's face toward his. "C'mon then, give yer husband a proper farewell," he whispers, kissing her softly and leading her into their bedroom.

His fingers are in her hair as they tumble to the bed, her soft moans making him hard beneath his breeches. Maroth deftly undoes the buckles of her dress, delighting in the silken smoothness of her pale skin. She blushes, pulling away. 

"The light," she whispers. "Blow out the candle."

He raises an eyebrow at her, confused. "W'at? How am I suppose ta see my pretty wife in the dark?" 

She shakes her head, holding her dress close. "I haven't been your pretty wife since I had Laylah," she replies, looking away.

Maroth grabs her chin, guiding her face to look at him. "Nessy, yer just as lovely now as ya were the day I married ya. Don't hide yer body from me, love. It shows that we made a child together, w'at could be more beautiful than that, right?"

Her cheeks turn bright red as he kisses her again, gently pulling off her dress. His hands run across her generous curves, pushing her down to lay flat against the bed. The candlelight catches the gleam in her eyes, the golden orbs beautiful in the soft glow. He pulls away from her lips and bends lower, tracing his tongue against the stretch marks on her stomach, pressing soft kisses against them. "Yer beautiful, Nessy," he whispers against her skin, eliciting a soft moan from her.

Maroth kisses his way back up, pausing at her breasts before kissing her lips again. Her eyelids flutter close as he pulls off his breeches, his hard length resting against her. "I love you, husband," she whispers as he begins to enter her.

He moans as the feel of her, warm and soft, clenches around his length. He bites back a louder moan, trying not to wake the sleeping child in the other room. "Ah, Nessy," he whispers, moving his hips in a quick motion. "Ya feel so good, love."

Her fingers dig into his back as her climax hits, and she clenches tighter around him. He lets out one last, loud moan as he loses himself inside her, before collapsing on top of her, spent.

She squirms a little and he rolls, adjusting his weight so he isn't crushing her. "Is this all I have to do to convince you to give up that dangerous work you do?" She murmurs the question, softly running her fingers across his arm.

He grunts, eyes closed. "It ain't half as dangerous as ya think, wife. Now go ta sleep, I'm tired," he replies, kissing her head.

She nods, shifting to rest her head against his shoulder. "We'll talk about it later, then, husband," she whispers, snuggling into his embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The characters here will be familiar to you if you've ever completed the Crime Wave quests in DA:O using the dialogue options vs simple pick pocketing. The actual quest itself has been heavily altered to suit the story but the characters are the same with Eloise actually be more than a mention.
> 
> Berwick is the elf you find in Redcliffe, the spy in the tavern.

Soris stares at him, face twisted in a frown as he thinks. "Nesiara will kill ya," Soris says. "Valora will kill us both, if I join ya."

Maroth shrugs. "What our wives don't know..."

Soris snorts. "As if ya could keep a secret from Nesiara. She's too clever for that."

He sighs, running his hand through his dark blonde hair. "Eh, maybe so."

"But yer goin' to do it anyway, aren't you?" Soris sighs, shaking his head, and meeting his eyes. "Ya've lost the plot, ya have, ya nutter."

Maroth flashes his cousin a grin, green eyes twinkling. "Of course." He adjusts his new clothes, proper fitting garb. The dark brown fabric is soft against his hands, lined with thick grey fur. The buckles shine like gold sovereigns, and he grins over at Soris. "This scheme will really bring the coin, cousin."

Soris leans against his doorway, shaking his head. "Be careful, yeah? I'll never hear the end of it, if ya get yerself killed."

"Ya sound like a naggin' wife, Soris," Maroth quips.

Soris laughs, waving him off, and Maroth slips away through the gate that leads out of the alienage. He quietly walks around the market district, keeping his head down and sticking to the shadows. He slinks along the walls, carefully watching the petty nobles walk around with their noses in the air and their purses filled with coin. He spots a maid in a silken green dress, her purse misshapen and lumpy. He slides up to her, brushing his fingers along the strings and deftly untying them in one smooth motion.

He slips it into his thick coat, grinning inwardly to himself as he continues in the shadows, no one the wiser to his movements. He walks past the guards, keeping his eyes down, until he reaches the back alleyways.

The air reeks of garbage and rotting food, flies buzzing around his face as he walks. Humans and elves beg on the corners, their sunken cheeks and dirt covered faces an unpleasant sight. He ignores them, hurrying past until he reaches The Pearl. 

Sanga greets him as he enters, her black hair done up in a hundred braids atop her head. "Greetings, Tabris. Come to have some fun today? I have a few new ones, both men and women, for you to try."

He grins, sending her a wink. "Not this time, lass. I'm 'ere fer business."

She frowns, eyes darting around nervously. "What do you mean by 'business', exactly? You best not be starting any trouble, you hear? Your coin's always good, but I won't be having any violence here."

Maroth chuckles, pressing a quick kiss against her cheek. "Don't worry, ducky. I'm a thief, not an assassin." He pauses a moment, before smiling again. "In fact, ya wanna help out yer favourite elven customer?"

"Favourite's a bit of a stretch," she replies with a grunt but nods. "Alright, if it'll keep my brothel in one piece. What do you need?"

His lips split into a wide grin. "You have a man coming 'ere soon, lookin' for some untasted, young thing. His name's Tilver..."

 

~*~*~

 

Eloïse shifts nervously, her bustle cinched tight around her waist. Her bright red hair is piled loosely around the nape of her neck, trailing down to rest on her shoulders. Her young face is pale white with no hint of a tan as she looks up at Maroth, her pointed ears poking out. "I never thought my first client would involve a robbery," she says, bright blue eyes blinking rapidly. "Are you sure this is goin' ta work?"

Maroth frowns down at her. "Jus' how old are ya, anyway, kid?" he asks, ignoring her question as he thinks of his daughter.

She juts out her chin, folding her arms under her breasts. "I'm fourteen, thank ya very much."

His eyes widen as he takes in her words. "Yer a bit young for this shite, ain't ya?"

"No," she replies, stubborn. "And I'm the only virgin here, so if yer Tilver wants one of them, I'm the only choice ya got."

Regret and uncertainty wash over him as he chews his lip, thinking. She snorts, a rude sound that startles him. "Lookit this way, old man; whether you rob this Tilver or not, I'm still goin' ta be plucked by mornin'."  

Maroth flinches at the crude phrase but nods. "Alright, I'll be hidin' over there. Jus' make sure his coin purse and pants lands in that general area." He turns to head over to the closest before pausing. "And I ain't an old man," he adds, grumbling. He looks at himself in the mirror for a moment, his dark blonde hair falling in his eyes. He's only twenty-one. That ain't old yet, is it? He shakes his head. Blasted kid.

He hides in the closest behind some old clothes that reek of stale sex. The door opens with a soft click as Tilver enters. "Ah, so young, so supple," he murmurs, advancing toward Eloïse like a vulture. Maroth feels the bile rise in the back of his throat as Eloïse kneels down, unbuckling the lecher's breeches. His stomach turns, and he forces himself to stare at anything other than the poor girl.

She tosses the breeches over toward the closest, and Maroth slips his hand in the pockets, grabbing both the coin purse and a silver key. He takes some of the coin, putting the rest back as Tilver moans loudly. Maroth's lip curls in disgust and he settles back further into the closest. He takes some wax from his belt pouch and stuffs it in his ears, blocking out the noises of Tilver's pleasure. Leaning his head back against the wall, he closes his eyes, and waits for them to finish, already regretting this stage of his plan.

It seems like hours roll by before Eloïse taps him on the shoulder, waking him from his light sleep. He digs the wax from his ears, sighing. "Glad ta know you had fun," she mumbles, flinching as she walks.

He frowns as he gets to his feet, brow furrowed. "He hurt ya, didn't he?" he asks.

She grunts, nodding. "Of course he did, fool. Ya think men like him are supposed ta be kind?" Her words are harsh, but he can hear fear underneath.

Her lip wavers as she stares at him, eyes daring him to say something. He reaches into his pack and tosses her some elfroot balm. "'Ere, try that fer the pain."

Maroth turns and walks away, shutting the door behind him with a loud click. He walks over to Sanga, teeth clenched. She raises a brow at him, arms crossed over her chest. "What's this? Didn't you get what you need yet?"

He shoves the coin in her hand, keeping the key in his pocket. It was the real goal here, anyway. "Give this ta that girl. And find different work fer her," he grumbles before storming out, anger clouding his mind.

 

~*~*~

 

Berwick is leaning against a merchant's stall, bow slung across his back. His eyes narrow suspiciously at everyone who passes. Maroth chuckles to himself as he sneaks up behind him, running a hand along the man's ass. "Yer lookin' the wrong way," he whispers in the spy's ear.

Berwick startles, turning Maroth around to pin him against a wall, hiding them both in the shadows. He presses a blade against Maroth's throat before his eyes widen in recognition. "Void," he mutters, frowning. "Tabris, you shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

Maroth leans forward, blade pressing lightly against his throat, and presses a kiss against the man's lips. Berwick stumbles back, lip curled. "Blast and damnation, I wish you wouldn't do that," Berwick grumbles.

He smiles, remembering a time before he was married when the two of them had done much more than just kiss. But Berwick has a code, and has denied him since Maroth's marriage. 

Maroth leans casually against the wall. "Ah but ya've got such fine lips, my friend, how can I resist?"

"Lecher," Berwick accuses, shaking his head, but the tone isn't angry. "More to the point, I hear you have something for me?"

"Oh I've got something alright, shame you won't accept it, anymore," Maroth quips, flirting second nature for him. Berwick narrows his eyes at him, clearly not amused. "Alright, ya stick in the mud. Yer workin' for that Bann Darby fella', right? Well, w'at would ya say if ya knew I had the key ta one of his enemy's estates?"

Berwick scoffs, eyes darting around. "I'd ask how you got it, for one."

"Does it matter?" Maroth asks, shrugging. "W'at matters is, ya've been searchin' fer a way into this Bann Loren's home for weeks. Now I've got yer "in", so how much ya willin' ta pay fer it?"

"I'd pay you extra if it meant you'd stop flirting every time we meet," he mutters before sighing. "Alright, how's about five sovereigns for you?"

Maroth lets out an annoyed laugh. "Five? Ya can do better than that," he chides.

"I can offer you seven sovereigns and that's it, friend. I'm barely getting paid for this blasted mission anyway."

He hesitates, considering the deal for a moment, before finally nodding. "Alright, 'ere ya go then. Right, it's been good workin' with ya again, Berwick. Don't make yerself such a stranger, come 'round more often."

Berwick tosses the money at him, shaking his head. "Only if that pretty wife of yours is going to make that rabbit stew again."

 

~*~*~

 

Maroth smiles as he watches Nesiara and Laylah dance in the middle of the room. His fingers strum the stringed instrument faster and faster and soon they fall to the ground in a heap, giggling so hard their faces are red. 

Laylah claps her hands. "More! More, papa, more!" she says, making him laugh.

A knock at the door interrupts his reply. He furrows his brow, wondering who can possibly be coming so late at night. He opens the door and stares, dumbfounded, at Slim Couldry standing there, a lopsided smile on his face. "Hey Tabris, you's gonna let me in or keep me standin' in this rain?" he asks.

He blinks, dumbfounded. "There's no rain," he replies, looking out at the street with his brows furrowed.

Nesiara places a hand on his back. "Who is it, husband?" she asks, holding Laylah on one hip.

Slim peers past him, looking t his wife. "Ah, didn't know ya were in the middle of spendin' time with yer family. Sorry to interrupt, cousin, but ya got a moment, right?" he asks.

Nesiara narrows her eyes. "Maroth..." she begins, voice low.

He can feel the suspicion in her gaze and looks away, guilt thudding through him. He's the one who's made her suspicious of his every move, and a part of him hates himself for it.

He starts to head out, pulling the door behind him against her protesting. "We'll talk later," he says to his wife before closing it with a soft click.

Maroth meets Slim's gaze, one brow raised. "W'at do ya want, Slim?" he asks, leaning against his door.

Slim shrugs, scratching the side of his neck. "I've got some work fer ya, if yer interested."

"Work? 'Fraid I don't know w'at yer talkin' 'bout, cousin," he replies, keeping his voice low.

Slim snorts, lowering his voice as well. "Right, an' I'm not an overweight half-elf. C'mon, ya think I ain't been keepin' my ear ta the ground? I know yer the one they call the "dark wolf"."

Maroth furrows his brow but nods. "Alright, w'at do ya got?"

Slim grins. "Well, I've got these friends, actually. Jenny, and her girl Sera. They're the ones with the job.  You's in?"

He hesitates a moment, looking back at his house. "I'm in."

 

~*~*~

 

Bards play their instruments loud in the tiny back alley tavern as Maroth makes his way over to Slim. He slides up next to a human girl with dark red hair and bright green eyes, grinning easily. "Ya must be Jenny, right?" he asks, winking at her.

A blonde elf with jagged bangs sits next to her, and she scowls at him. "Say it any friggin' louder an' the whole place will hear ya. Daft fool, innit? Right, you're the Dark Wolf then. Slim told us about ya."

He shrugs, looking between the two, noticing how the elf's hand rests on the other girl's lower back. "Right, well that's w'at some people call me. I'd druther ya call me Tabris in public though," he replies.

The human nods, lips quirking into a slow grin. "Yeah, I'm Jenny, and this here is Sera, right. Why don't we go up ta my room where we can talk in private?"

Maroth nods his head, following the two girls and Slim up the stairs to a tiny room. Clothes are strewn about haphazardly, and a few empty bottles lay cluttered in the corner. He watches as Sera sits down on the floor, followed by Jenny who lays her head in the elven girl's lap.

He leans against the far wall, making eye contact with Slim before turning back to the other pair. "Right then, w'ats this job then?"

Jenny watches him carefully for a moment, squinting as Sera runs her fingers through her deep red hair. "You've heard of Bann Franderel? He's got a large estate 'ere in Denerim. He's a friggin' ass of a noble, treats his servants like shit," she says, lip curling as she speaks. Her accent is soft, strange, like she hasn't been in Denerim long and grew up somewhere he can't place.

Sera snorts, shaking her head. "Fancypants foolish arsebucket is w'at he is. Always steppin' on the little people like it's his bloody right or somethin', I say we stick a bunch of friggin' arrows in his face."

"Now, now, chicken, we can 'ave a bit more fun this way," Jenny soothes, tracing a finger along Sera's cheek. "You, Tabris. There's a box over there on the table, right. Yer goin' ta need to paint it real pretty like, first. Then, the fun begins."

Sera giggles, eyes gleaming. "You ready fer some fun, Wolfy?"

Tabris lets out a short laugh in response. "Wolfy? Well, that's a new one. Right then, paint the box, and then w'at?"

Jenny shrugs from her place on the floor. "Slim or me, we'll be in contact when it's ready."

 

~*~*~

 

Carefully, Maroth pulls the tiny brush across the wood, painting delicate lines that ebb and flow like tidal waves in silvery blue paint. He furrows his brows, concentrating on the task at hand. The candle marks down another hour. 

"Papa! Play with me!" Laylah tugs his arm, and he barely moves the brush away in time before it smears paint down his project.

"Blasted void," he shouts, pushing away from the desk. "Shite, Laylah , go play somewhere else. I don't have time for games."

Her lower lip trembles, her blonde hair tied into pigtails. "Sorry, papa," Laylah mumbles, sticking her thumb in her mouth. Maroth's heart cracks at the sight of tears flowing down her chubby cheeks.

Maroth sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "Shite."

Nesiara enters the room, brow raised. "Come on darlin', papa's busy working. He'll play with you later, won't you husband?" Nesiara asks, meeting his eyes with a stern look.

Maroth nods, sitting back down and turning away. After a moment a hand rests on his shoulder. "This is for Slim, isn't it?"

He shrugs her off. "It's a box, Nessy. I'm paintin' it. Can we talk later?"

She sighs, kissing the top of his head. "It's always later with you, isn't it?"

 

~*~*~

 

The bottle crashes by his head. "Yer the biggest wanker I've ever known, Maroth Tabris!" Shianni shouts, glaring at him from across the room.

Her husband peeks his head around the corner. "Shianni?" Nelaros questions, voice low. 

Shianni bows her head. "Sorry," she says. "But he deserved it, right?"

Nelaros sighs. "I'm sure he did, love, but that's our only bottle of ale."

"And I'm probably causin' ya a headache with my shoutin', huh?" Shianni shakes her head, tiny breads clicking. "Andraste's ass, sorry."

He smiles. "Ah, you would think I'd grown used to this by now."

Maroth chuckles. "Easy for ya ta say. Wasn't yer head she was aiming for," he quips.

Shianni shoots him a look. "If I'd been aimin' fer yer head, I'd have hit ya." She lets out a harsh sigh, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yer an idiot, I ever tell ya that before?"

"Almost every day, cousin." He shakes his head before tossing a small bag of coin of the table. He'd only meant to bring his family some coin, not recieve yet another lecture from his "let's get drunk before noon!" cousin.

 

~*~*~

A loud knock at the door, and Nesiara rushes to answer it. "Hello! Can I help you?" she asks, and Maroth tilts an ear to listen closer.

"Right then, don't know who ya are, but I'm lookin' fer Wolfy."

Maroth groans as he recognizes Sera's voice. He walks over to join his wife, Laylah sitting atop his shoulders. "'Ello, Sera," he says, not meeting Nesiara's angry glare.

"Maroth Tabris, who in the Maker's name is  _this_  girl?" she asks, voice low.

Sera grins, twirling an arrow between her fingers. "Name's Sera, innit? Right, well, I need ta borrow yer husband for a moment. Not like that. Don't worry, I don't play with swords," she replies, making Maroth groan again.

Nesiara stares at her, mouth agape, before forcing a tight smile. "Of course. I'm sure you two have... business to talk about," she says, the anger clear in her voice. "Come here, Laylah, papa can't play today."

He hands over his daughter, an apologetic look on his face. Laylah starts to cry, burying her face in her mother's hair. "I want Papa," she sobs, and Maroth's heart cracks at the sound.

He opens his mouth to reply but Nesiara cuts him off. "Not a word, husband. Just... go. You're going to, anyway." She turns abruptly, walking back into the house. Maroth sighs, grabbing the painted box and his cloak. 

"Right, good timin' ya've got there, Sera," he says dryly. 

Sera shrugs. "You wanted this job, right? C'mon then, let's go. Jenny's waitin'."

They walk silently along the back alleyways, Sera occasionally muttering nonsense under her breath until they reach the same tiny tavern they'd met in before. Maroth's eyes widen to see Alarith there when they enter the messy room, his orange hair shining in the dim candlelight.

"W'at're  _you_  doin' 'ere? I thought ya left the business when ya married Nola?" Maroth asks, slapping him on the shoulder.

Alarith shakes his head, lips twitching into a grin. "I didn't leave, I just found better friends."

Maroth clutches his chest, wrinkling his face in mock pain. "Ya wound me, Alarith, right in the friggin' heart."

Jenny snorts, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. "Right then, you two know each other? Good, makes this quicker. Sera an' me, we got business to do somewhere else tonight, so Alarith here will fill you in on w'at you need to know." She turns to Sera, winking. "C'mon, chicken, you ready?"

Sera leaps toward her, tackling her to the floor and giggling. "Right, let's go 'ave some fun," she replies, kissing Jenny and giggling.

Alarith rolls his eyes as the two get up, walking toward the door, and waits until they leave before speaking again. "Ah, those two. Bit weird, but good people. Their schemes don't just help fill their own pockets, but the pockets of the little people like us." His accent is a cross between his homeland of Tevinter, polished and rich, and the back streets of Denerim. In fact, it reminds Maroth a bit of Jenny's. 

Maroth shrugs. "W'at do I care? Let's just get on with it before Nessy finds out where I am an' skins me alive."

The shopkeeper chuckles, nodding knowingly. "She's a feisty one, isn't she? Well, right. We're going to be posing as servants tonight at Bann Franderel's fancy party. When the nobles are nice and drunk, we'll slip off to Franderel's private quarters and steal this fancy ring of his. In it's place, we're leaving the box behind."

He raises his eyebrow, confused. "That's w'at the box is fer? Bloody shite, why?"

"Dunno, really. Sera seems to think it'll be funny, or some shit, and all I know is it'll piss of the nobles and get us some good coin. Jenny said we can steal whatever else we can carry, so long as we get the ring."

"An' just how're we gettin' in there?"

Alarith grins, throwing him some clothes. "There's a servant named Adwen who'll get us in, easily enough. It's getting  _out_  that'll be the challenge. But what's something like that for the clever Dark Wolf, anyway?" 

"Shut up," Maroth replies with a grin, taking his tunic off and replacing it with the worn servant's garb. "This sounds like a fool plan."

"Since we did you oppose to fool plans?"

He grins as he puts on the too-tight breeches, looking over his shoulder at his own ass. "I never said nothin' about opposing, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is a medieval-esque setting, prostitutes tend to start young- Even Zevran hints at this during his in-game dialogue. Lending further evidence that they can be rather young, is the dialogue you get with Tilver during the quest Master Tilver's Key.
> 
> Tilver: "Is it true that she's... untasted?"  
> Warden: "Untasted?! Just how old is she, you lech?"  
> Tilver: "Wh-What?! Go away!"  
> Restless Guard: "Listen, I'm with you. But stay away from Master Tilver."
> 
> So, yeah, he's a creep but it does follow in-game canon in that regard, at least.


	3. Chapter 3

Laylah's pudgy hand grips his finger, her golden eyes sparkling with specks of green. "Papa! Play!" She squeals when he picks her up, tickling her toes. 

"Papa's bought ya a new toy, Lala, see?" He holds up the tiny wooden sailboat, its frame delicately painted red and blue. Its sails are made of fine cloth, crisp white and fresh. Laylah 's eyes open wide in amazement as she reaches for it, giggling when Maroth kisses the tip of her nose. 

"Mine, mine!" she says, and Maroth lets out a boisterous laugh. "Please, papa? I really want to play with ya."

Nesiara's face is caught somewhere between a frown and a smile as watches from her rocking chair. "Where did you get the money for such a fine toy, husband?" she asks, voice soft.

"Nessy, please. Let's not fight, yeah? I'm going to take Lala down ta the docks, ta play with the boat. Ya should come with," he urges. 

Nesiara shakes her head, getting up with a reluctant smile. "No, husband. I'm going to get supper started so that you two have something hot to fill your bellies with when you come back. Be safe, love, and may the Maker watch over you."

Maroth grabs her by the waist, Laylah still in one arm, and kisses her. "Ah, yer a Makersend, wife. Andraste be praised I was so blessed."

She chuckles, pushing at his chest. "Alright, go on, you. Don't be out late."

He places his daughter on his shoulders, ducking low as he heads out the door. His heart is light as he holds the toy sailboat in his hands. The money he had made from stealing Franderel's ring was more than he'd expected. More than enough to ease up on the work his wife disapproved of, and spend some time with his family again. Most of the coin from the ring had went to Jenny and her charity act, but Alarith and him had stolen more than enough trinkets along the way to make up for it.

"Papa, how come you an' mama always fight?" Laylah asks, perched atop his shoulders still, the question full of childlike ignorance.

Maroth flinches. "Uh, that's not fer ya ta be worryin' about, Lala. Yer ma an' me love each other, an' that's all ya need ta know," he replies gruffly.

The sun glistens along the water, shining brightly as they stand on the docks together. "'Ere we are. Ready, Lala bug?" He puts her down, handing her the toy. "Put it in the water an' blow really hard."

Laylah nods, face comically serious as she grabs the toy and bends over the side of the dock. She holds the tiny string that's attached to the back of it in her hand, and reaches down toward the water. Maroth's heart skips a beat and he grabs hold of the back of her dress, just incase. But the sailboat hits the water without a hitch and he laughs to watch her blowing against the sails, trying to get it to float away.

A slight breeze hits, pushing against the miniature sails and carrying it slowly out. The string keeps it from floating too far away, and Laylah laughs in delight as she pulls it back, only to do it again and again, laughing each time.

"Oiy there, w'at's this? Didn't know ya were such a family man, Tabris," a voice chimes from behind him, and he glances over his shoulder to see Jenny standing there with Slim.

He frowns, hand still clutching the back of his daughter's dress. "W'at you lot doin' round here?"

Slim grins, waving at Laylah. "Came ta find ya, didn't we?" he replies. "'Ello, Laylah."

Laylah grins, running over and hugging Slim around the legs. "Uncle Couldry! Did ya come ta play with us, too? Pweaaaase!"

Slim nods, a wide grin splitting across his face. "Sure did, little one. Why don't we's go over here and ya can show me yer new toy?"

"Careful now, Lala," Maroth warns as she skips away with Slim. He turns to Jenny, still frowning. "W'at do ya want?" he asks again.

She quirks an eyebrow his way, a smirk twisting her lips. "You've heard of Vaughan Kendells, right?"

At the name Kendells, Maroth's blood boils. The Kendell family is the one who had killed his mother when he was little. He has only the faintest memories of Adaia, of her dark skin and willful smile. She had taught him how to use a dagger, before the Arl had her killed.

"I know them," he replies, tone a low growl. "W'at the frig ya want with them?"

"W'at do I ever want with a shittin' noble? To rob 'em blind an' help out the people who really matter."

"No," he replies, shaking his head firmly. "I'm done with that, fer awhile. Nessy's got stew waiting fer me. I'll see ya 'round, Jenny."

Jenny shrugs as he gets to his feet. "I guess this one is too much of a challenge fer the Dark Wolf," she agrees. She walks closer to him, pressing her chest against his arm. She bats her eyelashes up at him. "Such a shame, right? All that coin, an' the Kendell family gets to keep it all." She sighs, pulling away. "Ah, well."

"I didn't say it was too hard," he grumbles. "Shite. Ya said that just to get me ta go along with it, didn't ya?"

She flashes him a grin. "Did it work?"

Maroth shrugs, glancing over at his daughter. "Yeah, I suppose it did."

 

~*~*~

 

"Well, what do we have here? A filthy knife-ear with his hand caught in the cookie jar? Typical." Vaughan Kendells' lip is curled up in a sneer, eyes narrowed with disdain.

Maroth spits on his shoes, blood dripping from his lip. "Friggin' piss-eared shite," he retorts. "Yer lucky ya caught me at all."

Vaughan laughs, a cold sound that sends a chill down Maroth's spine. "I know who you are, knife-ear. You're the one they're calling the Dark Wolf, aren't you? Delicious. Oh, do I have a surprise for you." He jerks his head at one of his guards. "Take him down to the dungeons for now."

Fear makes his heart race beneath his chest as the they roughly drag him down to the cold dungeon beneath Vaughan's bedroom. They chain him to the wall, leaving him there alone in the dark.

It's hard to tell how much time is passing with no light and no food. Hunger tears at his belly as he hangs there, arms aching in pain. He can hear the high-pitched screams of a woman coming from above, echoing through the floor of Vaughan's room. The screams are full of terror and agony, descending into broken sobs as Vaughan laughs gleefully. As each day passes, the voice catches something in his memory, a sound he feels he should know but can't place. Hunger makes everything feel like a dream, his mind screaming with delirium.

Finally, light spills into the room as the door opens. Maroth flinches away, the dim light hurting his eyes. A guard comes in with a bowl of what smells like piss-flavoured soup, and roughly feeds it to him. He fights it until the man gruffly grabs his head and forces the swill down his throat.

"You'll need your strength for what's to come, boy, so stop fighting it." His voice is filled with something that almost sounds like regret.

Maroth scowls at him, the screams from above more pronounced with the door open. That voice, though, that sound... He swears he's heard it before and a sick feeling falls over him.

"W'ats goin' on up there?" he demands to know, fear twisting knots in his belly.

The guard doesn't meet his eyes, just walks away to stand against the far wall. "Answer me, dammit!" Maroth shouts, voice horse from days of being unused.

"You'll see soon enough, boy. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

The screams end abruptly, a soft thud hitting the floor. The guard flinches, and moves to unlock the manacles that hold Maroth to the wall. "Alright, come on then," he mutters, pushing him toward the stairs. "Go on, see for yourself."

Maroth hesitates at the first step, pulse pounding his throat. He's afraid to walk up those steps, legs shaking fiercely from hunger and the torture of being hung up by his arms for Maker knows how long. He turns back toward the guard. "How long?" he asks.

The guard frowns beneath his helm. "A week and some days."

He swallows, taking a hesitant step up. Each step pulls at his muscles, sending fiery pain up his legs. But he keeps going, heart beating fast, both wanting and not wanting to see what lies ahead.

The first thing he sees is Vaughan's smiling face, his eyes gleaming with a sick satisfaction. Slowly, his eyes trail down, until they reach the floor. Blood stains the stone a dark red, pooling to mix with hair a pale, straw blonde. His knees hit the ground before he even realizes he's falling. 

His heart pounds beneath his chest, tears falling from his eyes as he struggles to breath. Fear and anger mix with pain so thick and hot it makes him vomit on the floor. He can't comprehend what he's looking at for a moment, mind refusing to accept that she could possibly be dead. No, she can't be. He'd left her making stew. She had smiled at him before she left, golden eyes full of joy. No, she can't be dead. She can't, she  _can't._

"No, Maker, no," he whispers, crawling toward Nesiara.

Vaughan kicks him away, and his ribs crack under the pressure. "Now, now knife-ear, this is my whore now," he says, chuckling low at the end. 

Maroth's eyes widen as he realizes she's dressed in nothing but her underthings. Anger rips through his as he struggles to his feet. "You son of a bitch," he says with a growl, reaching for the noble bastard's throat.

Vaughan steps easily out of the way, laughter bubbling from his lips. "Don't touch me, filth. Now, you're free to go, I have what I want from you."

He slips in Nesiara's blood, landing hard on the ground. He reaches for her, looking into her eyes. His heart stops when he realizes she isn't looking back at him, and the golden orbs are glossy and unseeing. "She's really dead," Maroth whispers, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

"Yes, but not before she showed me a good time. You were a lucky man indeed to have such a pretty wife," Vaughan replies, motioning for his guard. "Go on, take this one out of my sight. Return him home, I'm sure that whiny little brat of his will want to see him."

"What did ya do ta my daughter?" 

Vaughan sneers down at him, scoffing. "Do? Nothing. I have no interest in a child. The brat is at home, with most of the rest of your pathetic family."

The guard picks him up, but he struggles against it. "I'll kill ya fer this, ya piece of friggin' shit," he screams, and Vaughan rolls his eyes.

A gloved hand hits the back of his head and he falls toward the ground again. As his vision grows dim, the last thing he sees is Nessy's eyes, cold and unblinking, staring back at him.

 

~*~*~

 

Maroth blinks against the bright candlelight, groaning as the pain returns. Nelaros' face comes into view, and he frowns up at his brother-in-law. "W'at's this? Where am I?"

Nelaros hands him a mug of cold water, motioning him to drink. "Home," is his blunt reply. "I was hoping they'd be coming back with Shianni as well, but it seems she's still at the blasted place."

Maroth's heart plummets as he processes Nelaros' words. "Shianni? Why?"

Nelaros narrows his eyes at him. "Because she wouldn't let the guards take Nesiara and the only other person home to stop them was your six-year-old daughter. So they took them both."

Maroth growls low in his throat. "I'll get her back," he swears.

"You mean  _we_ , brother. That's  _my_  wife he has, and  _my_  sister's whose body grows colder by the day. You won't be in it alone. Soris can watch Laylah."

Maroth hesitates a moment. "We need more help," he says. "I have... some friends."

 

~*~*~

 

His pulse is racing as he waits beneath the discreetly placed red banner. The waiting seems endless, but eventually they show. Jenny raises her brow at him. "What's this? Yer contacting us? What for?" she asks, brow raised. 

The other girl she's always with, the elf they call Sera, snorts. "Lookin' for coin, ain't 'e? Course 'e is. After he buggered up the last job."

Maroth shakes his head, glancing at Nelaros. He clenches his fists, lips curled in an ugly snarl. "They took my wife, and cousin. Nessy is dead, because of that blasted shite job of yers."

Jenny stops smirking, face clouding with clear anger. "Your wife... I'm sorry. The Kendells still have yer cousin, then?"

Nelaros nods, hands trembling with rage as he steps toward them. "I won't let them hurt Shianni," he says, voice a soft growl. "And I  _will_  see that pig faced bastard dead for this."

Sera curls her lips. "Bad things should 'appen to bad people, innit right, Jenny?"

Jenny nods, a slow grin spreading across her lips. "Yes," she agrees, voice low and full of menace.

Maroth breathes a sigh of relief. "Then you'll help?"

"'Course we will. Besides, Sera's been looking fir a reason to fill a noble bastard full of arrows."

Sera giggles, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her. "Yeah, that's right. I'll fill the little bitch-balls full of arrows. Then he'll really dance," she says, holding an arrow close to her face.

 

~*~*~

 

 

Maroth looks down at Vaughan, fist clamped tight around his crudely made spear. The weapon is nothing more than a broken broomstick with two daggers tightly tied to the ends, but it's been sufficient in slaying the entirety of the Kendell family, so far.

Except Vaughan.

"Please, don't kill me! I'll give you whatever you want! Just please, don't kill me," he begs, snot dribbling from his nose.

He sneers down at the sniveling man. "Promise me all the coin I can carry, shem," he replies.

"Yes, yes, of course. It's all yours!"

"Promise me power, too, power beyond imaginin'."

"Anything!" Vaughan clutches his side, blood pouring between his fingertips.

Maroth grins, a slow and cruel smile that twists his lips. "Promise me all that I ask fer," he continues, lifting his spear.

Vaughan gulps, fear shining from his beady eyes. "I promise," he whispers. "Please."

"I want my wife back, you piss-eared little shite," Maroth says with a growl, plunging his spear into Vaughan's chest. 

Jenny places a hand on his shoulder, brows furrowed with pity. "I'm sorry, I never should 'ave given ya that job," she whispers.

Nelaros grunts from behind them. "He never should have  _taken_ it," he says, voice low and full of anger.

A cut traces across Shianni's cheek, but her brow is still furrowed in determination as she holds her husband upright, his arm bent at a wrong angle. "Shh, husband. I just want ta go home. Let's get out of 'ere. I don't want to see this place anymore," she says, tears barely held back as she glares at Maroth.

He knows they both blame him. And the worst part is, they're right.

 

~*~*~

 

The smell of burning wood and bodies permeate the air. Voices scream as shems in silver-plated armour cut them down one by one. Maroth holds his daughter to his chest, running as fast as he can through the streets, away from the guards. The alienage burns around him, his friends and family dying and bleeding for his revenge. He makes it to the bridge, heart racing beneath his chest as Laylah wails. Maroth knows it's cowardly to flee, to leave his friends and family to this fate. His heart is heavy with shame as he continues to run, feet pounding hard against the ground. He just wants Laylah to be safe.

He doesn't know where he's going to go. He just runs, feet moving mindlessly through the alleyways of Denerim, praying for escape. It'll be a miracle, he knows, but he can't let his daughter have the same fate as her mother. She can't die, too.

"Oiy! You, knife-ear! Stop!"

Three guards stand in front of him, weapons drawn. Fear stops him cold. Laylah continues to cry, tears streaming down her face. "Kill them both, filthy brat needs to shut up," one of them growls.

An arrow pierces the speaker's skull and he falls to the ground with a thud before Maroth can act. Two daggers slide from the shadows, stabbing the fatter guard in the throat. The last one spins around but barely has time to lift his axe before two arrows slip through the gap between his armour. Jenny dashes out from the shadows again, about six inches from where the guard had been looking, and slits his throat.

"Hurry up then, before more come, right?" Jenny's look of anger turns to pity as Laylah stares at her with tears and snot running down her face.

As they run for the gate, Laylah finally stops crying, silently sucking her thumb as the echo of screams chase them from behind.

 _"If we ever left here, where would you go?"_  Nesiara's voice, that first day they had met, rings fresh in his ears. His reply echos in his mind.  _"I dunno. Maybe find the Dalish? My pa always tell such stories about them."_

 

 ~*~*~

 

The forest is cold. Laylah cries, the sound strange in the hush of the forest. Maroth stares blankly at his daughter, his blood stained hands in his lap. Nessy is dead. He still can't believe it. His heart thunders in his chest as his hands begin to tremble. He wonders how many of his fellow elves survived the massacre.

"Mama," Laylah wails, rubbing her eyes with her fists. She looks up with him with eyes so much like Nesiara's, tears staining her cheeks. 

He quickly moves to cover her mouth, knowing Vaughn's men could be near. He muffles the sound, ears twitching as he listens carefully. An owl hoots in the distance, but the forest is otherwise quiet. 

Laylah claws at his hand, eyes wide. He lets her go, pulse in his throat, and she heaves as she tries to take in air. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispers as she cries again.

He picks her up, snuggling her in his arms. "Shhh, Lala, shhh," he soothes, rocking her back and forth, praying to the Maker that he can quiet her before they're found. 

She looks into his eyes, and it pains him how much she looks like her mother. "I want mama," Laylah says, mumbling around the thumb she has stuck in her mouth.

"Mama... Can't be with us anymore," he replies, a tear falling down his cheek. Maroth clenches his fists, anger boiling through him again. Filthy shems. He wants to shout, to scream and rage at the trees. And, in that moment, he wishes killing Vaughn hadn't been over so quick.

Laylah sniffs, grabbing his shirtsleeve. "Gwandpa?" she asks, lip wobbling. 

He places his head in his hands, a broken sob escaping his lips. "I don't know," Maroth answers honestly, knowing his six-year-old daughter won't understand.

She sits down on the ground, eyes wide, lips trembling but not crying. "I'm hungry, papa," Laylah mumbles, thumb back in her mouth.

Maroth glances up at her. "Hungry?" he repeats. He glances at his hands. "We should find a river or water... ." Berries grow near water, right? Maybe he can catch a fish...

 

~*~*~

 

"Blasted friggin' tits," Maroth curses, causing Laylah to giggle by the shore. 

"Papa! Don't say the bad things," she says, wagging her tiny finger at him. For a moment, she looks painfully like her mother and his heart clenches in pain.

The water from the stream is cold around his ankles as he tries to spear a fish for their supper. "I think I hate nature," Maroth grumbles, wiping his brow. 

If only he had some blasted string to make a fishing pole. Then he could fish the right way.

A giggling sound a bit deeper than his daughter's causes him to spin, almost falling on his ass into the water. A woman stands on the shore next to Laylah, strange tattoos on her pointed face. Elven ears poke out of dark chocolate hair that's tied in many braids, much like Shianni's. His heart skips a beat.

"Oh! Hello! I didn't mean to startle you. You're not one of the People, are you? Oh, that's not what I meant, sorry. That sounded rude, didn't it? I meant you're not Dalish, right? No vallaslin. I think your kind call them tattoos? I'm Merrill, by the way," she said, barely taking a breath in between each word. "Who are you? It's not rude to ask that, is it? Your name, I mean?"

Her accent is strange and lilting, and his heart hammers beneath his chest. "Maroth," he replies warily. "I could be Dalish, ya can't be sure. Maybe my clan is near, and I haven't received my valla-sl-slin yet," he replies, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

She shakes her head, brows furrowed. "Why are you lying? You're no Dalish," Merrill says. "Are you hiding from someone?" she asks, and he's surprised by her perceptiveness.

Laylah looks up at the woman. "Mommy's gone," she says, and the Dalish called Merrill frowns harder, pity filling her eyes.

"Oh you poor thing. The shemlen must be looking for you."

Maroth nods, fear and anger making his hands shake. "You've got a clan, then? Are there many of ya?"

Merrill nods, but her expression is sad. "I don't think Keeper Marethari will allow you to join our Clan. It would bring too much risk to our People. Come with me, you can stay with us for at least a few days, rest a bit and maybe eat? You look exhausted, and you must be starving. The flat eared elves don't know how to survive in the forests. Oh! That was probably rude of me, wasn't it? I'm sorry. I've never met a flat-ear before."

He glances at his daughter. "Not me. Just her," Maroth says, voice soft and filled with sadness.

Her green eyes widen. "And you will draw the shemlen farther away," Merrill whispers. 

"So long as she survives," he replies, squaring his shoulders. "That's all that matters ta me now."

Merrill nods, turning quickly as crunching leaves draw their attention. Merrill calls up a ball of flame but quickly puts it out when two other elves join them. One is a female, her long red hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Her purple tinted eyes are strange and sends a shiver down Maroth's spine as she stares at him.

"You found a flat ear, Merrill," she says, voice holding that same strange accent. "You were right, Tamlen. She found trouble."

The other elf is a male, his blonde hair cropped short but still hanging across his forehead, a little messy from the wind. He's silent a moment, staring at Laylah. "Two flat ears, lethallan. Look, there's a young one with them," he says, pointing with his bow.

The girl's expression softens slightly. "Ah, da'len," she whispers. She shakes her head. "Merrill, we need to leave. I sense something dark has... awoken, nearby," she says.

Merrill frowns. "I have felt nothing, Revas'mi. What do you mean?"

Revas'mi closes her eyes. "Something... ancient. Tainted. A terrible reflecting glass with darkness pouring forth."

Tamlen looks around nervously. "We've warned the Keeper; she wants to speak to you."

Revas'mi bites her lip, opening her eyes and looking down. He nudges her shoulder, lacing his fingers with her. "Hey, lathallan, are you okay?"

She nods. "Just a headache, ma lath."

Merrill glances at Laylah and then back at Maroth. "I'll advise Marethari to move the clan north then, toward the Wending Wood. We should be clear of the blight there, at least for now." She turns away from her clanmates, toward Laylah. "We're taking her with us," she bites her lip, hesitating, A wave of relief washes over Maroth; he had feared for a moment the elven mage had changed her mind."The Keeper might protest. Will you speak for her, as well, Revas'mi? She trusts your word more than mine most days."

Revas'mi nods, causing the man holding her hand to frown. "It's dangerous," he warns.

Merrill nods. "I know. But we can't abandon this child. Look at her, Tamlen. She's so small."

Maroth comes to the shore and kneels down, level with his daughter's face. He rubs his thumb along her cheek, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "Ya 'ill need ta be a good girl fer papa, okay?" he says.

Laylah frowns, nodding. "Are we goin' 'ome?" she asks, voice soft.

He shakes his head, taking a shaky breath in through his lips. "No, Lala. Yer going ta go with Merrill an' her friends."

"Papa, too?"

"Papa can't come with ya," he whispers.

Tears fall down her face. "I don't want ya to weave."

He pulls her in for a tight hug. He strokes her hair, mumbling meaningless apologies.

Tamlen clears his throat. "You should hurry, falon. I'm... sorry."

 

~*~*~

 

The shems are close on his heels as he runs through the forest, sweat pouring down his face.  He's not sure how long he's been running, only that it's in the opposite way of Merrill and her clan. Away from his daughter. His heart clenches in pain. He can feel his death nearing as his energy starts to fade. He's not sure how much longer he can run. He just knows he  _has_  to keep running, farther and farther away until they'll never find her. It doesn't matter that he'll die. So long as she lives. So long as something of Nessy survives. 

He trips and dirt fills his mouth. The guards laugh and he braces himself for the blow, waiting, breath caught in his throat.

Burning fire blazes past him, and the guards scream as flames engulf them. Maroth looks up to see an elven mage, red hair hanging to his shoulders, eyes like cold fire. He whispers something and the flames grow larger, burning the shems alive until they're nothing but burnt flesh and bones and metal.

Maroth looks up at the man, smiling despite himself. "Yer a mage," he whispers, awestruck. "W'at perfect timin' ya got. Thanks."

The man blinks at him, his tattoos similar to ones he's seen in the city.  _An apostate, then._   _Not a dalish._ "You should be more careful, friend. Walking these forests with no weapons of your own is dangerous."

He chuckles, getting to his feet.  "My name's Maroth. Yer...?" he asks, grinning.

"Aneirin."

"Well, Aneirin, I think we're goin' ta be good friends."

The mage raises a brow. "Oh? I prefer to travel alone."

Maroth shrugs. "That's too bad. I was hopin' fer some good company an' maybe a hot meal," he replies, winking even as his stomach growls in hunger.

Aneirin laughs. "I suppose I could share a meal, if that's all you need."

Maroth smiles. "Well, it's a start, anyway." Maybe, with a mage at his side, he might just survive this to someday meet up with his daughter again. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maroth's face claim is Wesley from the Princess Bride, and his story, his character, has always been inspired by a mix of The Princess Bride and Robin Hood (he Errol Flynn version and the Men in Tights version, mixed together). I hope the little Easter Eggs I threw in were fun, and came across well as a loving tribute to the inspiration behind him. 
> 
> And there you have it! Maroth Tabris' backstory. Feedback is welcome, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Extras:  
> If you're curious about Merrill and her clans adventures in the Wending Woods, there is a small one-shot that covers a bit of their time there- ''Emma Shem'nan''.  
> Tamlen and Revas'mi's relationship, and more on the vision, is covered in the short one-shot "Ar Las Mala Lath."  
> Shianni's view point on the Alienage Massacre can be found in ''What is Lost''.  
> A short, slightly smutty one-shot on Nesiara and Maroth's first time together can be found in the not-so-cleverly named "The First Time".  
> A very tiny drabble on Maroth's childhood, written from his cousin Jalyn Surana's pov, can be found in "What Used to Be."  
> And if you want more details on Red Jenny and Sera, "Thief Sleeps in My Bed" covers their meeting, a few adventures, and what happens after the Blight is over in very short snippet form. None of these *have* to be read, but can be fun reads (I hope?) if you're interested. 
> 
> And of course, Maroth's tale is continued in the on-going and lengthy tale "What Has Been Wrought", set during the Blight.

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this (Jenny and Sera) directly crossover with the characters in Thief Sleeps in my Bed. http://archiveofourown.org/works/3672099
> 
> Alarith is a smuggler in the toolset on the pc, hence the way I have him written here.


End file.
